


Lonnnnnng Weekend

by Katzedecimal



Series: Apres La Mort [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherhood, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, In-Laws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Holmes brothers decide to make good on that promise to visit the dinosaur museum together.   John Watson expects a good part of this will involve him playing referee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talimenios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talimenios/gifts), [thesummerstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesummerstars/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> A series of little vignettes, with varying degrees of fluff, angst, seriousness and silliness, exploring the relationship dynamics. Written for some nice people who expressed an interest. Set after [_Burning Bridge_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/370907) and [_The Gyre._](http://archiveofourown.org/works/388019) Actually sort of shoehorned in there, but it's my 'verse and time is smooshy :3 

It was a tough decision. 

_Nine hours on a flight with cramped seats or nine hours on a private jet with oodles of legroom. And Mycroft.  
Nine hours on a flight with screaming kids and babies or nine hours of silence from Mycroft.  
Nine hours of recirculated air or nine hours of recirculated air and Mycroft.  
Then there's Customs. Then there's Customs vs. Mycroft._

No, really, it was a tough decision. No matter how he sliced it, the alternative was an extra nine hours alone with Mycroft. 

It wasn't that John Watson didn't really **like** the elder Holmes brother, it was just that........ alright, it _was_ that he didn't really like the elder Holmes brother and he still resented him a great deal for the colossal fixes he'd gotten Sherlock into with his ginormous cock-ups. But the long, long hours spent in silence gave John too much time to reflect on his life with Sherlock Holmes. 

He'd had time to realise why his attempts to lead a normal life just hadn't been working out. The work of a civilian doctor was routine, boring and the women he'd dated.... much as he really hated to admit it, they were boring too. He couldn't fit in with civilian life because he walked in a different world. Sherlock had walked in a different world too; not the same world as John's but the two aligned neatly enough to make it work. John saw people differently, too - he'd had to. He'd spent time with people with different cultures, different priorities, different understandings, different ways of looking at the world. He saw Sherlock differently, and practically took the man in stride.

He had a lot in common with Sherlock. They both liked not having to be 'on' all the time and they both liked not having to make constant conversation. They liked similar foods (when Sherlock would eat) and similar drink, they both liked putting silly things on the skull, and John quite liked the violin (although violin at 2 a.m. had taken some getting used to.) John _really_ enjoyed the cases, much moreso than he'd thought he would and he did enjoy taking care of Sherlock. John was a man who needed a purpose and to be needed, and Sherlock had given him both. 

What bothered him was how much he had in common with Mycroft. 

That had taken a lonnnnng time to recognise and the realisation still unnerved him. He resented Mycroft and thought of him as a cold, Machiavellian bastard who didn't hesitate to throw his own brother under the bus despite watching over him like George Orwell dialed up to eleven. Mycroft's schemes were downright frightening; privately, he didn't blame Sherlock for wanting nothing to do with him or them. Mycroft was a snake, and not even a snake in the grass but a king cobra who'd rise up, stare you in the eye, then fill your head with poison. The thought that he had _anything_ in common with such a man was deeply disturbing to John. 

But he did and shooting Harry had driven it home. He and Mycroft were both calm, quiet men who didn't look very frightening and used that to their advantage. They were both caring brothers exasperated with their addict siblings. They were both seldom cared for in return - or so they'd thought, and their siblings' ways of caring had taken them both by shock. They both looked at right and wrong in a different way and they would use their weapons without hesitation if they knew, absolutely knew, that it was the right thing to do. And they would not hesitate to draw on their own family if they knew, absolutely knew, that it was the right thing to do. 

It disturbed John that he'd drawn on his own sister, in favour of Mycroft. _"Time to choose a side,"_ Mycroft had once said, and John Watson had chosen to side with them. Against his own sister. 

And he knew, absolutely knew, that it was the right thing to do. 

It bothered John that he had started warming up to the man. It bothered him that Mycroft seemed to be warming up to him as well. He'd seen emotion that he knew Mycroft would never permit to be viewed by anyone; he'd learned of skeletons in the Holmes family closet that made the skull look tame. He'd even seen the man smile on a few occasions - one of the few aspects where the family resemblance was apparent, as a genuine Mycroft smile was as soft, warm, and heart-meltingly boyish as a genuine Sherlock smile. Privately, John thought it was a good thing the Holmes' smiles were such rarities, as they could easily be lethal weapons in the wrong hands. 

Good thing John's were the right hands.


	2. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realises something about Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuing a series of vignettes in a giftfic for a few people :)

"And who are these people, again?" Mycroft sighed as they waited for the maitre d'. 

"Part of Mrs. Jones's clan - the Carters, the Emmersons and a few of the Joneses. They're on their way up to a protest at the oilsands," John replied. "We're here to meet their cousin, Colin MacIntyre," he cast a quick grin at the flash of comprehension in Mycroft's eyes, "His flight from Quantico connected with theirs in Denver. We're to meet here, grab a bite to eat and then head out."

Mycroft's expression cleared and he nodded, "I see, very wise."

"D'you see him anywhere?" John said as they sat down at one of the booth tables. 

Mycroft shook his head, puzzled. Usually he could spot Sherlock in an instant, he practically jumped out at him. But he couldn't see him at all. "Perhaps he has not yet arrived?" Then he heard a familiar voice boom out _"Yes!! Wonderful! Poke holes in my deductions! Brilliant!"_ "....Well, I can hear him," he said as John grinned, "But where the devil is he? Why can't I see him?" He took out his phone and sent a text. His frown deepened. He looked up again but still couldn't see his brother.

"I know why," John said quietly, "We're used to him standing out, but look at these people. Watch their body language. Watch how they talk." His eyes skimmed over the group, taking in the constant motion, the flailing hands, the strong voices and the way the conversation bounced about as people jumped in on one another. "They move like he does. They talk like he does, talk with their hands like he does. We can't see him because he fits in." He watched a few moments longer, then observed, "We're the ones who're standing out."

As they watched, one man was detaching himself from another table and picked up his plate to carry it over to them. "Sorry! I didn't see you come in Mini-Me and Rae and a few of the cousins were deconstructing a couple of my deductions they're brilliant a couple of things I would never have thought of it was brilliant so I didn't see you sorry," Sherlock said breathlessly, then plunked himself down next to John and beamed at them, "Hello!"

"Hi yourself," John smiled warmly, chuckling at Mycroft's shellshocked expression at his little brother's motor mouth, "How was your flight?"

"Terrible until I hit Denver then it was a nightmare that place has the worst acoustics ever there's a couple of dead zones where you can't hear anything I nearly missed my connector flight," Sherlock paused to shovel some food into himself, but only for a moment, "After that it was great I mean it was the usual boring people and whiny children but I had the Carters for company and the whole clan and oh my god Mycroft they're like the family we should have had they've even got the crazy uncle with the weird name who's brilliant that's him over there with the beard how does one man get so tall??" Another pause for breath and a mouthful of whatever it was he was drinking, then he was off again, "You have to meet Mini-Me his name's Michael I met him in Tibet BE AFRAID the universe decided I'm so indispensible it created a back-up copy one of me wasn't enough!!"

John's phone vibrated against his hip and he glanced down at it and grinned.

[22:17 Mycroft Holmes: Is he high?]

[22:18 John Watson: No, just happy.]

[22:19 Mycroft Holmes: You're certain?]

[22:19 John Watson: I've seen him like this before. He's just happy to see us, I promise.]

He looked up to see Sherlock waving over a young man with ginger hair and an elfin face in a shy expression, introducing him as "Michael a.k.a Mini-Me." Then other members of Sherlock's Tibet group were waved over and introduced. John had to bite down hard on a grin as the woman introduced as Bolivia Carter, quite clearly one of Mrs. Jones's daughters, explained to Mycroft that "Colin" had been quite lovely and no trouble at all. The look of disbelieving amazement on Mycroft's face was simply priceless.

[22:52 John Watson: Don't. You'll ruin everything if you do. He's just happy, I promise.]

[22:54 John Watson: Even I can see you're looking. If he catches you at it, he'll flip off. He hasn't relapsed, he's just excited.   
He's always like this when he's happy about something. I've seen it plenty of times before.]

[22:57 Mycroft Holmes: I haven't seen him behave like this since he was a child.]

[22:59 John Watson: Well shut up and enjoy it, then. Your brother's happy to see you, for a change.]

That shut Mycroft down long enough for John to finish his meal. "We should get going soon," he told Sherlock quietly, "It's getting on midnight for Mycroft and I."

"Right, right," Sherlock nodded then shot up to collect his pack and say goodbye to his companions. _Friends,_ John thought, watching, _Friends he fits in with._ It was a paradigm shift, seeing this. John had little doubt that that had been the point all along.


	3. Thou Shalt Not Criticise Thy Brother Whilst He And His Flatmate Are Armed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Sherlock's settling in, Mycroft has to open his big mouth and ruin it. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another in a series of little vignettes intended as giftfic for some people.   
> Pure silliness, with some schmoopy sprinkles on top.

"Thought it'd be the cabins again?" Sherlock flopped face-first onto the bed.

"It'd be easier for me to hide the bodies," John grinned, flipping on the telly and turning the volume down, "But I thought this place would be better. It's close to town, you can walk out on each other when you piss each other off."

Sherlock grinned shamelessly at him. They'd taken adjoining rooms in a palatial 5-star hotel a short walk from the town's main strip. "This is more his style anyways."

"And that too," John agreed, flopping down beside Sherlock, who rolled to his side to face John, "He's really never taken a proper vacation? What is it with you two and vacations, are you allergic? Do you get a skin rash?"

Sherlock shrugged; he had this much in common with his older brother, "People go on vacation trips to see things and meet people - we can see things online and we don't much care to meet people, so what's the point? We find our work much more interesting and our work often calls for travel, so again, what's the point?"

"The point is," John took out his phone and pulled up an image he just couldn't bring himself to delete entirely, "You never smile like _this_ when you're working a case."

Sherlock looked at the picture of Linus Sigerson on the bridge overlooking the Saltstraumen, looking back over his shoulder at John with a smile that did indeed seem out of character for him. He'd smiled like that the first time John had called him an idiot. He rolled onto his back, crossed his arms over his chest and mock-huffed at John. John nudged him with his elbow, "Ah? Ah?? Am I right?" 

Sherlock pasted on his best 'nettled' face but finally lost it to a grin and thwapped John with his pillow, "Quit it."

"I'm right, aren't I?" John thwapped him back, grinning, "Come on, say it! Say I'm right!"

"Quit poking me it tickles!" ***whap*** ***boof***

"Say it say it say it say it!" ***biff* *whack* *thump***

"Never! AAAAAGH!" ***CRASH***

"...Y'okay?"

"Never better." ***BOOF***

"Ahh!! That's cheating!"

The door from the adjoining room opened and a peevish voice called out, _"When are you two going to stop acting like children?!"_

Sherlock glared up from where he'd crashed onto the floor, one leg still on the bed, dragging John half off the bed by his shirt. The stab of irritation blossomed suddenly into anger. "When are you going to _start?"_ he yelled, and hurled his pillow. 

It sailed with sit-com accuracy through both the open doors and nailed Mycroft square in the face with a solid ***BIFF!***

John fell off the bed, laughing. "Come on," he said, grabbing his pillow, "Are you going to let him talk to you like that? We should teach him a lesson, is what I think."

"I like the way you think," Sherlock smirked. 

Mycroft startled as the adjoining door was kicked open and Sherlock stalked in, John on his heels. He had just enough time to seize his own pillow before Sherlock whapped him a solid ***boof!*** across the shoulder and John gave him a clout to the ribs. He fought back with everything he had, which turned out to be quite a lot - thirty years of repressed pillow fighting doesn't just go away, apparently. 

" **Kill shot!!** John, quick, hold him!"

Mycroft felt himself suddenly and expertly pinned, then felt Sherlock's fingers flutter at the tender spots beneath his ribs, "WhatHEY!! STOP!! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! _SHER-LOOOOOOOOOOCK!!!!_ " It was extremely undignified, being held down and tickled until one was squirming and crying with laughter. " _SHERLOCK HOLMES I HATE YOUUUUUUUU!_ "

"Mwa-haha!" laughed his evil, unrepentent, ungrateful, horrible, reprehensible, vile, trecherous, nasty, betraying swot of a little brother, then finally they let him go. Mycroft blotted his face with a tissue, glaring while his brother gathered up his pillows and grinned, then waved and - just to rub extra salt into the wound - blew him a kiss. 

He was never going to live this one down. 

When they woke, they found that Sherlock had browsed the shops. John was pulling on a new Cowichan jumper with noises of delight, and Mycroft's hand had found the velvet box somehow slipped beneath his pillow while he slept. Inside was an ammolite ring. Both, of course, fitted perfectly.


	4. Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get to the museum. John gets creative about keeping his sanity. Mycroft is never going to live this down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing a series of vignettes intended as giftfic for some nice people :)

The bickering started at breakfast, when Mycroft made an off-colour remark about Sherlock's pallour. John wished he'd had a starter's pistol and resolved to bring one the next time he went on a trip with these two because honestly. Eventually he started keeping a tally on a serviette. 

"C'mon, Mycroft," John said as he put the car in gear, "You're falling behind. Sherlock's ahead of you by ten points and a pun."

Mycroft huffed, "You two were certainly made for each other."

"Ooo, shot at the ref, that'll be worth eight."

"I want to know what criteria you're using to evaluate the score," Sherlock said. 

"Level of vindictiveness rated on a one-to-four scale plus the age of child who'd normally spout the insult, half that if it's in the double digits or else the numbers get unreasonable."

"So Mycroft's ref shot?"

"Level two vindictiveness plus six for insulting the ref on the level of a twelve year old."

"Ref shots should be out of bounds. I think there should be penalty points awarded."

"The ref is biased," Mycroft murmured.

"I'm awarding bonus points for whether the insult is a big-brother or little-brother thing to say. It's very interesting, you both swap around on that so you're running fairly even."

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow, "Meaning?"

"About a third of the insults that come out of you are things I'd expect Sherlock to say. And vice versa."

"You're _dissecting_ our arguments?" Mycroft ignored Sherlock's grin. 

"It's either that or dump you both off in a field somewhere and there's plenty of fields to choose from."

"I think it's fascinating," Sherlock offered, "You'll have to inform me which things I say are in the big-brother category. God help me if I start sounding like **him.** "

"Level three plus a straight-up seven, ten points! Good job, Sherlock, you're in the lead again."

Honestly. 

By the time they reached the museum, John had filled both sides of the serviette with no clear winner. Mycroft was dismayed to learn that his attempts to be high-brow had simply resulted in some quite large point jumps, keeping him at pace with Sherlock's lower-scoring childishness. "The ref's bias is clearly apparent and he needs to consult a dictionary."

John paused as he got out of the car, "Are you saying I don't know what 'vindictive' means?"

"Quite."

"Brilliant!! Accusation of favouritism, that's six years old, plus nine for an eighteen year old's pedant point, with a level three intent, plus a bonus point because 'you like him better than me' is such a baby-brother thing to say. A brilliant eleventh-hour come-back for Mycroft Holmes! Sorry, Sherlock, he wins the no-prize, better luck next time." Sherlock was leaning against the car, laughing silently. 

"Are we done here?"

"Until you two get at it again," John shrugged. He handed them their admission tickets, "Off you go, then, no running, no writing corrections on the captions and if I catch either of you climbing into the exhibits, you'll feel the back of my hand, alright?" Mycroft gave him a death look. 

"Oh come on, Mycroft!" Sherlock dragged him off by the arm, grinning.

* * * *

John was enjoying himself quite a bit, really, watching the brothers drift from one exhibit to another. John kept his camera ready, to capture the elusive moment, the seemingly impossible, when Mycroft's perfect facade would fall away and allow his real personality to come through. The cracks started to show at the bone lab, where they spent a good hour watching the technicians at work and speculating about the find. John wandered off to where he and Sherlock figured they had the best chance of breaking Mycroft's composure.

[19:00 Ted Anders: It's still here.]

[13:01 Linus Sigerson: Good. I'll try to pry him off the window.]

[19:02 Ted Anders: No rush.]

John hung around until Sherlock - eventually - managed to drag Mycroft away from the prep lab window and into the next gallery. He let Mycroft be distracted by the big _T. rex_ display and went to stand shoulder to shoulder next to John. 

Eventually, he noticed. He approached them with a suspicious look, "What are you two up to now?" Sherlock and John looked at each other, grinned, and stepped apart. _**"....... It's Black Beauty!!!!"**_

[13:21 Linus Sigerson: John, my brother is squealing like a fangirl.]

[19:22 Ted Anders: Must be snowing in Hell.]  
[19:22 Ted Anders: I'm getting the whole thing recorded. I just hope it's visible, it's so dark in here.]

[13:25 Linus Sigerson: My brother is squealing like a fangirl.]  
[13:25 Linus Sigerson: Mycroft. Is squealing. Like a fangirl.]  
[13:26 Linus Sigerson: This is better than I'd hoped.]

[19:26 Ted Anders: God I hope this is visible, if it is, I'm making gifs of it.]

The sight of the famous black _T. rex_ had completely smashed Mycroft's carefully practiced facade; after that he was like a different person. He grinned, laughed, and even chattered at Sherlock all the way through the Burgess Shale and Devonian Sea dioramas. John had a terrible urge to text him with "Are you high?" but knew that would spoil it. 

John was in the Permean exhibit when Sherlock found him. He smiled up at his friend, "Hello! Where's Mycroft?"

"He's not with you? Damn, I lost him in the gardens."

[15:23 Linus Sigerson: Where'd you go?]

[21:24 Mycroft Holmes: I'm sorry, I got talking with one of the paleontologists. I thought you were right behind me. I'm in the archive storage room. I'll see if they'll let me bring you down.]

[15:26 Linus Sigerson: Take your time. John's insisting on dragging me off to the cafeteria.]

[21:28 Mycroft Holmes: They'll let you come down and bring your lunch, since it's so difficult to get you to eat as it is.]

[15:29 Linus Sigerson: I'll bring you a sandwich.]  
[15:29 Linus Sigerson: Try not to choke on it.]

[21:30 Mycroft Holmes: Or perhaps I'll just let you enjoy the cafeteria ambiance while I enjoy viewing what isn't on display for the general public.]

[15:31 Linus Sigerson: You started it.]

It was evening by the time they finally left the museum (John wasn't sure he could pry **himself** out of the archives, let alone either of the brothers.) They stopped for supper in Calgary, sampling Calgary-style ginger beef and Cesars from their birthplace and John noticed that even the bickering had a slightly different quality to it now. It had overtones of the light-hearted ribbing that John and Sherlock poked at each other - barely there, but enough to be noticed. John hoped it would last, but had his doubts. The boys were just too strongly conditioned for that. Just like he and Harry. 

_Conditioned_ \- that was a word that kept coming to John's mind as he watched Mycroft and Sherlock, talking with their hands as they enthused about this fossil and that hypothesis. He thought about some of the things he had discussed with people, while learning how to understand Sherlock better. Watching the brothers, he could see how much they had in common, now that Mycroft's conditioning had been interrupted. It would be back in the morning, he knew. He knew he might never see Mycroft like this again - so happy that people wondered if he was high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No it's not over yet, more to come.


	5. Duct Tape, Baling Wire and a can of WD-40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This "mending fences" thing is harder than it looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing a series of little gift vignettes for some nice people :)

It was light when Mycroft awoke, which wasn't a surprise. Not when he was still half-running on London time. Not after the broken night he'd shared. Not after the cry in the night that had ripped him from sleep with every big-brother instinct he had firing on all cylinders. 

The inner door was still cracked open. Mycroft tapped it softly then peeked in. Sherlock lay on the bed with John spooned behind him, clinging to him like the world's biggest, boniest teddy bear. Sherlock waved lazily then reached for his phone. 

[11:13 Linus Sigerson: This always happens after he's had a nightmare.]  
[11:14 Linus Sigerson: I lie down, he turns into a limpet.]

Mycroft smirked.  
[16:15 Mycroft Holmes: You handled him quite well. He is alright?]

[11:16 Linus Sigerson: Yes, fine. No further disturbances.]

[16:16 Mycroft Holmes: What was that about Saltstraumen?]

[11:17 Linus Sigerson: He was dreaming about Barts. I just brought him forward to Oslo.]

[16:18 Mycroft Holmes: How do you know he was dreaming about Barts?]

[11:19 Linus Sigerson: We have the same dream.]

Mycroft couldn't suppress the shudder or the look of sympathy. Sherlock shrugged.   
[11:21 Linus Sigerson: If you don't mind, I'd like to take you to Moraine today but it involves legwork.]

Mycroft's lips twitched distastefully.  
[16:22 Mycroft Holmes: Moraine Lake? What's there?]

[11:22 Linus Sigerson: Something you'll find interesting. Go get dressed. It'll take me a few minutes to extricate myself from John without waking him.]

[16:23 Mycroft Holmes: He sleeps that deeply? He's got quite a tight grasp on you.]

[11:24 Linus Sigerson: I've had practice.] 

Sherlock smiled and put the phone down, then carefully moved his lower arm to grip his pillow from underneath. His upper arm, fingers tangled with John's, slid slowly beneath John's, breaking the tight grip around his waist. At the same time, he very carefully and slowly inserted his ankle between John's, then his calf, until his leg was threaded underneath John's. Very, very slowly, he rolled back, easing his slumbering flatmate towards his back and loosening his hold. Then, as lightning fast as he'd been slow, Sherlock rolled off the bed at the same time as he swung the pillow underneath John, just as John started to roll back. He pulled off his t-shirt and tucked it between John and the pillow just as John's arm closed around it and brought it tight against his chest, curling up against it and pressing his cheek against the still-warm t-shirt. Then he stood up and grinned at Mycroft, who looked grudgingly impressed. 

Dressed after a quick shower, he pinned a note to John's pillow then went to join his brother.

* * * *

"Even so, Sherlock, your history of being a prat didn't improve your situation."

"Apparently I need remind you of your own situation. Being Mr. Prim didn't exactly help _you_ out any, either."

" _My_ job is expected to make enemies, but _your_ job needs allies and every time you have insulted one of them.."

"Oh really?? Oh really?? With all your stupid CCTV spying on me, I would have thought you would have noticed that every time, every single time, Mycroft, they've insulted me first!"

"We're going to 'they started it?' Really?"

"Yes, really! So I'm supposed to just roll over and take it, am I?"

"It's called 'taking the high road'..."

"It is **not** called 'taking the high road'-"

"Put your hands back on the wheel!!! I don't need the air quotes."

"-It's called bullying! And you ought to know that, _you've_ practically raised it to a fine art!"

Mycroft fell silent for a few moments. "...Yes, I've already been lectured about that."

"John?" Mycroft nodded and Sherlock grinned, "Man's a tyrant in a cuddly jumper. People have no idea."

"And you live with him. I'm torn between pity for you and admiration for your inner fortitude."

"It's no wonder he got to be a captain."

"It's a stroke of luck he's not a general."

They parked the car and got out. The air was crisp and spruce-scented, under an overcast sky. "At least he's not here scoring our arguments," Mycroft said as he closed the car door, "Are we really that bad?"

"Yes," Sherlock said easily, "To be honest, I think he'd be disappointed if we weren't." He gestured in the direction he wanted to take and set off down the path, "He seems to think it humanises us, for some reason."

"I can't think why," Mycroft agreed. A tour bus was unloading and they skirted around the milling throngs. "Best step away from there. I'm told I'm quite unsafe to you around buses."

"Lectured you on that too, did he?"

"Yes," Mycroft sighed, "And informed me in no uncertain terms that I owe you an apology that I am to deliver without delay at the first available opportunity." 

Sherlock laughed out loud. "I know _exactly_ how he said it. There really is no uncertainty in John's 'no uncertain terms', is there?"

"I'm not looking forward to the flight home but I suppose you'd object if I were to stow him with the luggage."

"I would, yes," Sherlock chuckled, "And just think, you're getting the condensed version! I get the full director's cuts in Imax!"

They paused to look at a piece of shale preserving the ripples of an ancient beach, then turned down another path. "He's been good for you," Mycroft said tentatively, "I hadn't seen you smile or laugh for years, until he showed up."

Sherlock snorted and reached for his phone. "Look to yourself," he replied, showing Mycroft, "If you keep making that face, it might stick like that."

Mycroft pushed a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly, "Well... I have always liked dinosaurs..."

"I should have thought of it sooner," Sherlock said, looking at the image, "I've been trying to get you to laugh for years."

"You have?"

"Of course I have! For pete's sake, Mycroft, why else would I go to Buckingham Palace in a bed sheet? You were supposed to laugh at my audacity! You were supposed to look back on it and think 'I can't believe he did that' and have a laugh over it. And yes I've already been lectured about it, extensively, by oatmeal jumper." He realised he was hearing only one set of footsteps and looked back. 

Mycroft had stopped dead and was staring at him, looking shellshocked and incredulous. "You mean that all this time... All those ridiculous stunts you've pulled..."

"Were to make you laugh, yes. Only you never do."

The silence stretched out. Finally Mycroft looked away. "I guess neither of us has had much to laugh about." He rejoined Sherlock and they fell into step as they walked. "I suppose you'll be wanting to make it official, when you get home?" he said, indicating Sherlock's ring.

Sherlock glanced at it and shrugged, "It's just a decoy. It's for passing through conservative countries while being over twenty-five and single."

Mycroft nodded, glancing at his own widower's band which nobody ever asked about, "I see."

"Rings are impractical anyway. They're a safety hazard on cases and in medicine."

"An unfortunate truth."

"And you always worry about them being lost or stolen."

"Also true."

"Tattoos are much more suitable to our lines of work."

Mycroft shot his brother a glance out of the corner of his eye and shook his head with a little smile - only Sherlock would think of tattooing their wedding bands. "And will John want a ceremony?"

"What John wants and what he thinks he wants are often two entirely disparate things," Sherlock sighed, "I'm sure his life would be much simpler if he could get the two aligned. Although he appears to be making progress in that direction."

"I'll have the paperwork drawn up. Once you're re-established officially, you can locate witnesses at your leisure."

"I should think you've witnessed just about everything."

Mycroft glanced at him, then considered silently for several minutes as they continued walking. "The last time I saw you with that expression," he said finally, "You were thirteen. You had your head in Mummy's lap and she was stroking your hair."

Sherlock smiled, then, "Thirteen? Are you certain? Surely there were some later than that?"

Mycroft stopped and closed his eyes. Sherlock waited, watching the microexpressions flit across his brother's face as he entered his own memory palace. This was Mycroft's element - absolutely flawless memory, perfect and total recall down to the last detail, sound, even aroma and touch. He waited, knowing Mycroft was searching through the details of Sherlock's life, looking for other instances of that expression. Finally he shook his head, "No. December 4th, it was snowing, you were... thirteen, yes. It was in the green drawing room, there was a fire in the grate, Mummy was reading _Watership Down_ , the cover with the still from the movie. She was wearing her winter perfume and her crushed velvet dress. You were wearing your purple cardigan with the faded denims." He opened his eyes and looked at his little brother, "If you ever had that expression again, it was not in my sight."

Sherlock smiled widely at him, "No, you're right -- I was seldom that happy again. It was a test."

"Of course," Mycroft shrugged and they resumed walking. "I appear to have been restored to optimum parameters," he said, "Frankly, my memory appears to be clearer than ever."

Sherlock said nothing. Finally he stopped next to some long slabs of stone, "Here."

"It's shale."

"Look closely."

A gleam of excitement lit Mycroft's eyes, "Is it Burgess shale? Oh it is!! Oh look at them all!"

"Wild fossils!" Sherlock beamed, "In their natural habitat."

"Is that one of those... Yes, there's one of those sausage-in-a-bun ones, is it ever tiny..." Mycroft nattered on for several minutes, examining the stone from every available angle. Finally he stood up, gazing at the stone and grinning. "Neat!!" Sherlock was giving him a funny look, hands in his pockets. "What?"

Sherlock gazed at him a moment longer, then glanced around. Then he threw his arms around his older brother and squeezed until his ribs creaked. "I'm glad you came back," he whispered hoarsely, "All of you."

Mycroft closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears and hugged back just as hard. Down through all the years he'd supported Sherlock, even enabled him, he never expected anything in return. Certainly not for Sherlock to have gone to the lengths that he had, to restore Mycroft to wholeness. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that followed, and crushed it mercilessly. If ever again he wondered whether Sherlock even gave a damn... "Did you really impersonate the Unified Intelligence Task Force's chief scientific advisor?"

"Well...." There was that too-innocent tone in Sherlock's voice again, "I had the coat and John had the sonic device and I am _sort_ of a scientific advisor and John _is_ a doctor and looks the traveller type and nobody even really knows what he looks like sooooo... yes?" .... he had only to look in the mirror to see just how much of a damn he gave. 

"I wonder if you aren't the most incredible brother who ever lived," he said at last. 

"Takes one to know one." 

Perhaps there were times - just a few - when caring could be an advantage after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not done yet.


	6. Holmes Sweet Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bickering. Lots of bickering. And John getting even more creative about dealing with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing a series of vignettes for some nice people.

_"Gone to Moraine Lake with M. Hope you understand? M. left card, treat yourself to whatever. Will text later. - SH"_

John read the note again and smiled. Yessssss, he understood. Nothing quite said "I love you" like rebuilding your brain with stolen reverse-engineered-from-alien nanobots. It was the sort of thing to make people want to reconsider their relationship, truly. He didn't blame the boys for wanting to have a last-ditch go of it. He'd been hoping to have that kind of family time with Harry some day, but... Ah well. Some day. 

_Well now,_ he thought, looking at some brochures, _What's here to do for a lone bloke on foot, with a practically unlimited credit card?_ The mineral hot springs caught his eye and he noted that his shoulder was aching a bit. Bit of a spa day, maybe? He looked at the walking distances to the shops on the high street then planned his day - bit of breakfast at the hotel, bit of walking about, then the mineral hot springs... Yes. 

He got dressed and went out, tapping the credit card. _They're both so hard to shop for..._

* * * *

"You say that as if it's my fault."

"It _is_ your fault."

"How could it be my fault when I wasn't even _there,_ Mycroft!"

"If you had notified me like you were **supposed** to, it wouldn't have happened! Watch the road!"

"I **am** watching the road. And I'm pretty sure blaming me for something I wasn't there for and didn't do gets you a bonus point."

"Oh, stop that."

"Plus level three vindictiveness."

"Level..! There was no vindictiveness in that. Level one! Level two at most."

"So you admit there was _some_ vindictiveness."

"Why are we even doing this?"

"I don't know," Sherlock chuckled, "John's only gone and ruined arguing."

"Watch the road!"

"I **am** watching the road!"

"You were twisting!"

"It's a twisty road!"

"Watch out!! There's no guard rail!"

"I'm aware of that, Mycroft, I saw it when we came up! It's no wonder you hire a driver, you're completely incapable."

" _I'm_ incapable?!"

"You know, they have this program here, it's called _Canada's Worst Driver_ and do you know what they've found? They've found that in a lot of the cases of distracted drivers, the problem is _the passenger!_ Now shut up about my driving!"

The silence stretched out and they turned onto the road towards Lake Louise. 

"Sherlock..."

"Oh what **now?** "

"...Pretty sure they drive on the right, here."

" _Ah!_ Right..."

They made it to Lake Louise intact and got out to walk around the Chateau a bit, then stopped to look at the restaurant menus. "What do you think of this one?" Sherlock said, pointing. 

"Fondue? Any particular reason?"

"Thinking of John, mainly. He hides it well but I know he feels out of place in some of the posher restaurants, though he likes the food. But this one is denims and apres-ski and with fondue, it's practically expected you're going to drip something, so he ought to be a bit more comfortable."

Nothing amiss with that logic; Mycroft shrugged and nodded, "Alright." He went to make the reservations while Sherlock sent off a text. Then they browsed the shops and grounds for a while. 

When John arrived, he could spot an immediate difference in the brothers. They sat on one of the plush couches near the big windows overlooking the lake, bickering as usual - but their knees and elbows touched and their upper bodies were leaning towards each other. A moment's shuffling brought their upper arms into contact, despite a comment that was **certainly** a level two. John grinned, then thought of Harry and felt a trifle wistful. "Hey, you two! Still alive, I see?"

Sherlock snorted, "Obviously."

"Well don't kill each other here, the lake's a bit public for dumping the bodies."

"For heaven's sake, John, we're not going to kill each other," Mycroft huffed, getting up. John grinned impishly. "Shall we?"

True to Sherlock's prediction, John covered his apprehension well as he glanced around at the restaurant. The whole hotel was as posh as the one in Banff but everyone was wearing denim and flannel. Heck, even Mycroft was wearing a plaid shirt and Fair Isle jumper (which made him look even more of a pod person than happy!Sherlock.) Once they were seated, John took out a small bag and handed it to Mycroft. 

"Ooo, hey! I noticed this shop on the way out!" Mycroft crowed, recognising a peace offering when he saw one.

Sherlock scowled, "Chocolates, John? What are you trying to do, make him fat again?"

"You're just miffed because your nanobots reset my metabolism and nullified your favorite insults," Mycroft smirked. 

"I've noticed you pigging out in an attempt to see how far you can push it," Sherlock retorted, "If you keep that up, you won't die of fat, you'll die of a heart attack."

"Well done, Sherlock! - three bonus points in two minutes!"

"Dammit!" Mycroft burst out laughing and Sherlock whined at him, "He's taking all the fun out of arguing, Mycroft, make him stop!"

"Yes, John, this tallying points, it's a bit much, don't you think?"

"Heck no, it's what our Mum would do whenever Harry and I got into it," John replied, "If it's good enough for Mum, it's good enough for me. Eight points, by the by." Sherlock threw up his hands but couldn't suppress his grin. 

They placed their order then John drew a small square of paper out of his jumper and placed it next to his plate. "Someone went to the mineral hot springs without us," Sherlock smiled.

John grinned, "It was packed, you'd have hated it."

"Oh I'm sure."

"And you two buggered off to Moraine Lake without me, so *phht* to that, I'll do as I like." They laughed. "It _was_ packed though, but very nice. Did my shoulder a world of good, I can tell you. How was Moraine? Did you get to see the shale?"

Mycroft smiled, "I did. Quite fascinating."

"Yes, he actually walked long enough to reach them. The wonders just never cease."

"Really, now, was that called for?" Out of the corner of his eye, Mycroft saw John make a tick on his paper but couldn't see what it was.

"It's the furthest you've ever walked in your life," Sherlock retorted, "It's either a miracle or they've started selling jumpers in Hell."

"Some of us don't like gadding about the streets."

"And some of us don't like sitting on our plush arses in a stifling office but that never stopped you from deeming it a sin."

"...sherlock makes a fat wisecrack, that's twenty..."

"And if you had the responsibility to get a stable income, it wouldn't become an issue."

"...mycroft, responsibility soapbox, twenty-five..."

They stared at John, then leaned out of the way as their supper arrived. "My income was fine!"

"Your income was sporadic and barely sufficient even without you wasting it on Class As."

"...mycroft needles about addiction... no pun intended..."

They stared at John again then gave each other a Look that said _He's going to make fools of us again in a moment, I just know it._ "It's only 'barely sufficient' to people who are sponging _their_ ridiculous income off the common taxpayer!"

"BINGO!"

They stared at John. "What??"

"Yeah! Last one, 'Sherlock goes political,' that's all I needed."

"You've turned our arguments into a _bingo game?_ "

Mycroft looked dismayed, "Are we that predictable?"

John nodded happily, "Oh yeah!"

"Make him stop!"

"He's **your** flatmate!"

"Yeah, how're you gonna make me stop, Sherlock?"

Sherlock glowered impotently at his grinning friend. "...I'll think of something."

"Score! Ooo, I ought to give myself fifty points for that..."

"For what? Blocking me?"

"You've done it to me often enough," John shot back. Sherlock tried to glare but broke up laughing instead.

They managed to make it through the rest of the meal (mostly) without going through any more bingo cards but the banter between John and Sherlock more than made up for it. Watching them, Mycroft wondered if a similar bingo card could be drawn. If so, _Sherlock deadpans a one-liner that dissolves John in giggles_ would certainly be on it. John's high-pitched giggle was definitely the silliest thing Mycroft had ever heard, though Sherlock clearly found it endearing.

The dessert of dark chocolate fondue was brought out, with the platterful of fruits and cakes. Then the server returned with "Vintage port, for the happy couple. Congratulations!" John **glared** at Sherlock, who looked baffled. Then they looked at Mycroft. 

Who was grinning toothily. If either of them ever wondered what Mycroft's evil grin looked like, this was it. "What did you tell them??"

"Please," Mycroft purred, "When would you two _ever_ get around to a honeymoon?"

"You told them we're married??"

"Aren't you, John? I'm told it's all over but the paperwork. Which shall, of course, be rememdied once all this tedium is cleared."

John stared at him and fumed. Then he stared at his plate and fumed. Then he stared at Sherlock and... realised there was only one thing he could do. They clinked glasses, and drank the flippin' port. 

Later, he discovered that Sherlock had brought the leftover chocolate back to their hotel in a take-away dish. For an experiment, he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go


	7. Catching Up with the Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mycroft discuss business and schmoop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finishing a series of giftlet vignettes for some nice people :)

_Never, ever losing these. I don't care how heavily encrypted they have to be or where I have to stash them,_ John thought. He was on Mycroft's private jet, on their way back to London. He was flipping through the images he'd taken on his phone. 

Mycroft, gleefully losing his composure at the famous black _T. rex_ he'd so admired. Mycroft, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in a plaid shirt and Fair Isle jumper, sucking chocolate off his thumb with a boyishly guilty expression. Sherlock, actually eating something. Sherlock, looking overjoyed at the t-shirt John had bought for him, with the print of a skull with angel wings and halo. Sherlock and Mycroft, holding each other's forearms as they said goodbye at the airport. Sherlock and Mycroft, in an awkward hug that they'd both hoped John was looking the other way for, but he quicker than that. And his favorite - Sherlock, on the bridge overlooking the Saltstraumen, frosted with sea spray and looking back over his shoulder at John, with a smile that said more than words ever could. 

"Souvenirs, Doctor Watson?" the smooth, plummy voice cut into his remniscience.

"Blackmail material," John grinned wickedly. 

Mycroft lifted a sceptical eyebrow and thumbed his own phone, "I could say the same about a few of these. A pity many of them will have to be deleted."

John nodded sadly, "I was just deciding which ones I would risk keeping, even if it means triple encryption and burying in a concrete block at the bottom of the Thames."

Mycroft smirked, "Highly unlikely it would survive, but I do understand the sentiment."

"I like the trilobytes," John said, indicating Mycroft's tie clip and cuff links, "Picked them up at the museum, did you? Or did the Fossil Fairy visit you?"

Mycroft grinned, admiring the little fossils, "The latter, I believe. I found them under my pillow this morning."

John nodded, "Yeah, I thought I heard him sneaking around. I don't think he slept much last night."

"Sadly, he didn't," Mycroft agreed. He shifted then, his composure closing and suddenly John knew the Ice Man was In. "He had other things weighing on his mind. Did he mention anything to you?"

"He told me you'd brief me."

Mycroft nodded. "Unfortunately, it is not quite as over as we'd hoped. There is still one particularly annoying loose end but we both agree, the situation has now become one where you are better officially knowing about it."

"Alright," John leaned forward attentively, all business.

Mycroft called up a selection of photos and passed the phone over, "This man appears to have been Moriarty's primary assassin. He goes by many aliases but we have been able to determine much of his background."

"A bit good at disguises, I see," John said. He studied each face, committing the strong details to memory. "Alright. So, why do I need to know, now?"

"He was, of course, the assassin assigned to cover you at Barts," Mycroft inclined his head, "However, it appears it has now become personal, after you tagged him in Oslo. Through a barely-opened window at night, without a sight or night-vision goggles."

John nodded slowly, "He must have played dead."

"Apparently so. My brother and his sources, as well as I and my sources, we all agree that a direct attack against you is becoming more likely. You have proven yourself to be a much more formidable target than this assassin had anticipated. Not only are you a superior shot, but you've become very difficult to access obliquely, thanks to your own precautions."

"Why, Mycroft, I'd almost think that was a compliment," John grinned.

Mycroft's thin smile was amused, "It's almost a pity that Sherlock got to you first. You would have been a considerable asset to my department."

John stared at him, "As your hired gun? I don't think so."

"As you are now, no," Mycroft agreed, "As you were when I first met you, had you not met my brother first... We are on the same side, after all." John stared at him a moment longer, then looked away. "A moot point, however."

John gazed out of the window, watching the clouds below. "One thing I learned in Afghanistan," he said softly, "Everybody thinks they're the good guys. Everyone is convinced that what they're doing is right and just. Us, the Americans, even the Taliban. No matter what it was we did, we were convinced that it was justified, that it was the right thing to do. Nobody ever thinks that they're the bad guy."

The uncomfortable silence stretched out for long minutes. "I have engaged a team of solicitors for Harriet," Mycroft said finally, "I believe they are going to build a case for her being influenced and manipulated while at a vulnerable period in her life. They may be able to get a reduced sentence."

John chuckled mirthlessly. "And that's probably the wrong thing to do," he sighed, "I can hate what she did but... she's my sister."

Mycroft smiled sadly and nodded, "I quite understand."

"Yeah, I figured you would," John smiled back, then sighed again, "Thank you."

Quiet fell and stretched out. "Thank you for putting up with us," Mycroft said finally.

John grinned widely, "It was fun, actually. And you're both still alive so it's fine. Not in a hurry to do it again, though." 

"I doubt it's in any danger of becoming a regular occurance," Mycroft chuckled, "But it was enjoyable."

"It seems vacations do as much for you as they do for Sherlock," John smiled and turned his phone. The image there was of Mycroft and Sherlock standing shoulder to shoulder and leaning towards each other, grinning widely as they looked up at an overhead pliesiosaur. "You both have the same smile."

Mycroft stared at it for a moment with an expression that John wasn't certain how to interpret. Then he pulled out his own phone. "Speak for yourself," he said as he thumbed through the images, then turned it so John could see the image of himself, fast asleep snuggled on Sherlock's chest caged in Sherlock's arms, with Sherlock's cheek resting on his hair. They both had the same soft little smile. John looked away out the plane window again, blushing but smiling bashfully. "Of course, two seconds later..." John glanced back to see nearly the same picture, Sherlock not having opened his eyes, lost his smile, or otherwise moved save to uncurl two fingers. Mycroft smirked, "He heard the shutter click."

John laughed and shook his head. Then he looked back at Mycroft, "It was good to see you out of your shell for a change. Especially at the museum." Mycroft didn't reply. Instead he looked out of the window, looking troubled. "You didn't know you were in a shell," John guessed, quietly. Finally Mycroft shook his head. John sighed and thumbed to a video of Mycroft and Sherlock, gabbling excitedly to each other. "Look at you," John said in a fond tone, "You'd almost think you were high." He glanced up to meet Mycroft's embarrassed eyes. "It tells me so much about the lives you boys have had, that you think you're acting that far out of character, when all it is, is you're just happy."

"I suppose," Mycroft murmured. He had the strangest feeling he'd just been taken under John's wing. He wasn't sure he liked that, but he wasn't sure he disliked it either. 

John sat back and gazed out of the plane window, where they were catching up to the sunset. It hadn't been a bad way to spend a long weekend, with a couple of overgrown brats who badly needed someone to take the mickey out of them. Fortunately, mickey extraction was something of a specialty for Dr. John H. Watson.


End file.
